"A dog with a bone neither barks nor bites."
-Porfirio Diaz


He didn't remember being born or suckling at his mother's breast (if he even had one). He didn't remember his first step or how he knew half of the things he knew, but he did remember the day that they'd taken him home.

They had kept him in a box – dank and dark and terrifying in a way that made him whimper with fear. But then someone opened the lid, looking down with light framing her face, her long red hair tied up into a knot of shiny ringlets. He squinted his eyes shut, not wanting to see.

She lifted him up, stroked her hands down his arms and over his face and through his hair. "A pathetic gesture," she announced. "A runt, I'm sure."

"But, Princess," a second voice crooned. "His eyes."

He felt a thick claw at his neck, skimming up his cheek. "Open," she commanded. And he could not but obey, no matter how scared he was. "Yes." Her smile was wide and her eyes shone with pleasure - he could feel it somehow, curling through his thoughts, soft and sweet. "Such a lovely shade of blue." She slid her hand through his hair and he leaned into it. It had been cold, shivering naked in his box.

"As blue as the clearest salrine crystal, your favorite."

She huffed and turned away. But she was happy; he could feel it.

The other creature could too, apparently, for it, too, smiled. "So you will accept him? As a gift of devotion?"

She scratched lightly behind his ears. "Yes. I will accept him . . . Mate."

He looked from one to the other as their eyes locked. Their joy suffused him.

"Put him in his cage for the night and then join me in my chambers," Princess commanded.

Mate nodded deferentially, standing and grabbing him by the arm before hauling him down a darkened hallway and to a starlit room, the bony filaments of the cage bars as thin as gossamer.

"Please," he whimpered. "I want to stay with you." It had been lonely in his box.

Mate shook his head, petting him just a bit. "I'm sorry, Pet. But first you must learn discipline."

With that the walls of the cage spun shut between them.

"But it's cold!" he protested. Their happiness had felt so warm. "I have poor circulation! My limbs could freeze off one by one and I bet you wouldn't like that! Dead exploded pet all over your nice ridiculously pretty cell! I could catch a cold! Do you have any idea what kind of germs are probably all over this floor?"

He shook the bars of his cage – something told him that he should never be ignored like this. He needed . . . no, he was entitled to more.

But no matter how much noise he made, they didn't answer him.

Fine. He'd just have to find his own way out. Now, there wasn't much down here – not even a low bench for him to lie down on. He felt along the walls. The bars were thin, but unbreakable.

"Oh, come on!" he shouted, slamming a fist against the cage wall. "Pretty blue eyes waiting right here for you! Remember the saltine rock? You wouldn't want to miss your favorite pet!"

Nothing. He slumped, frustrated, on the floor. It was warmer than the air at least, and soft. Hey . . .

He looked down, felt along seam lines until . . . "Aha!" Just a small tweak to the hidden circuit junction and the cage doors slipped open. Now he just had to find them.

The walls were thick, the hallways long and twisting. He found his way out towards the open air on several occasions, but he knew they would not be there. It wasn't safe to wander outside without his masters.

He climbed several flights of stairs, up and up to a small room, which seemed to take up the entire floor, despite its size. The dome was a latticework of clear glass, the sky an empty field of jewels above him.

They lay together upon a glowing pallet, colors shifting from deep purples to muted blues.

Mate stood immediately, striking a defensive pose.

Behind him, Princess sat up calmly, still draped in the white filmy cloth of their nest. "Quiet, Mate. It is only our little pet. He is a very intelligent one."

"I . . ." he stammered.

"It is all right, Pet. Come." Her words echoed, even as she beckoned.

He smiled, settling patiently at her feet.

"And what should I call you?" she asked, brushing a hand through his hair.

He hesitated. What was his name? It was floating there at the back of his mind – knowledge close but dancing just on the boarder of consciousness. "R . . . Rodney," he whispered.

"Very well, Rodney. Come, there is a space for you here." Princess pulled back the single white sheet to let Rodney slip in beside her.

"It is not traditional, Princess . . ." Mate began.

"It is a changing galaxy," Princess snapped. "Do not make me despair my choice."

"Yes, mistress," he acquiesced, patting Rodney on the head before settling down beside her.

---

Rodney enjoyed his life. In the morning he woke, stretched all of the kinks out of his very stiff back, groaned until Mate uncurled from around his Princess, grumbling and trying to bury his face into her neck. Then Rodney would trot down to the bridge, grabbing the morning's status report and taunting the acting captain until he snarled. Then he would climb back up to his masters' nest to find Mate dressed and ready.

"Good man," he would say, rubbing Rodney's chest and bringing him breakfast.

"That doesn't have any citrus, does it?" Rodney would demand until Princess laughed at him, stroking his chest and feeding him from her very own hand.

"That is not behavior befitting a Queen," Mate would growl, but she would just giggle at him, high and stuttering, in feeling instead of speech.

"I am not yet a Queen," she would say, though her cheeks would flush with longing, even as she continued to feed Rodney from her palm, assuring him that her scientists had double checked everything for the fruit he called citrus.

Then Mate would call in a servant to clean up the plates, before taking Rodney down to the labs, where Rodney would kneel at his feet for the daily inspection. Mate did not believe that Rodney's closeness was proper, but he still loved him. Rodney could tell.

"What do you think, Pet?" he would ask, pulling him gracefully to his feet.

Rodney could feel his master's laugher as he went from workbench to workbench ridiculing the work of each of his family's scientists. "You think that will increase the range on your stun grenade? How would you like to be a charred husk, eh?" he would say. "And you? Where did you learn these power output algorithms? From a lobotomized kangaroo? No, no, no . . . just no! And you? After yesterday . . . why are you even still here? If I were running this place, I'd have you fed to the space monkeys. It's a miracle we're all still alive with idiots like this running the show." And he would continue on until the scientists were properly cowed and Mate seemed pleased.

"Good job, Rodney," he would say, with a smile, leaving Rodney to fix the latest fumbles of tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber while he went out to work with his brothers.

But today was different. Rodney could feel it in his master's anticipation.

"What?" he squawked, trailing behind Mate's long strides. "Come on, I know you have a surprise for me. I am a genius, remember?"

Mate laughed. "As you constantly insist on reminding me. We indulge you too much, Pet," he said, even as he scratched his palm down Rodney's back. Rodney's whole body tingled with delight.

"But . . . you know I'm not good at waiting. It stresses me out. Gives me wrinkles. Just a hint?"

"No, Rodney. You will see soon enough."

They took an unfamiliar turn at an unfamiliar hallway. Rodney perked up. "A new lab? You said you'd take me to see the power generation station."

"This is better. But you must show patience."

Rodney huffed. Patience smatience.

"Dark," Mate ordered, the lights flicking off.

"Hey, no fair! You know I don't have as good night vision as you do! I'm going to stub my toe . . . permanently damage my . . ."

"Here we are," Mate sighed, grabbing hold of Rodney's arm and guiding him through a door. "I would not hurt you, Pet," he said.

Rodney took a deep calming breath, feeling himself flood with tranquility. Of course, Mate would never do anything to harm him.

Even with a flash of blue light and then darkness, Rodney felt safe with his Master there.

---

"What?" Rodney groaned, pushing to his feet. He felt tingly all over and tired – like that one time Princess has allowed him too much of the fermented Cedeer juice.

He sat up, back in Princess' wide pallet with her leaning over him, stroking his chest.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Come." She pulled him to his feet. "I know that you do not enjoy the outside much, Rodney. But if you should want to travel through the Well, I want to be able to track you." She pulled him to the mirror, yanking back the folds of his white robe to show a small scar running along his neck. "Your very first transmitter!"

Rodney smiled, allowing her to enfold him into a quick hug. "Isn't it beautiful? Why don't you run off and show Teyla and Carson?"

Rodney nodded, proudly puffing out his chest. His very first transmitter! He smiled. "You should have given me one much earlier," he mock scowled.

"Yes, my little genius. Be careful," she called after him as he shot off down the corridor. Carson and Teyla preferred the outside, even though neither knew the shocking UV radiation levels of this planet. He stopped by the labs to pick up his homemade sunscreen before making his way out into the glare.

Both Carson and Teyla had already been given transmitters, but they had come here before him as breeding stock – too valuable to risk losing in their roaming across the countryside.

Rodney emerged sneezing into an absolutely horrible spring day to see Carson seated on a large flat rock, soaking up the sun. "Oh, puh-lease. You're just asking for a slow horrible death by melanoma, aren't you?"

"Come now, Rodney. The Breeding Manager has lasers to remove growths. I've done the procedure myself."

"Suit yourself," Rodney grumbled. "But don't come crying to me when that butcher you call master takes a chunk out of the middle of your forehead. It's not as though he demands good looks out of his prime stud. Obviously. You've got those lead panties I sent you? Protect the little ATAs?" Rodney wasn't quite sure why Carson's little swimmers and their ATAs were so important – it seemed familiar, though. Better safe than sorry.

Carson glowered. "Very funny. You have that rubber suit to protect you from the big bad sunshine?"

"Hey, I burn easily," Rodney said, stumbling up Carson's rock and pulling down the hem of his robe. "I just came to show you this."

"Oi! You've got yourself your very own transmitter. My own bonnie boy's finally growin' up, then?"

"Oh shut up, Carson," Rodney rolled his eyes. "Where's Teyla?"

Carson sighed, pushing himself up from his rock. "Won't listen, that one. Bloody stubborn. Thinks she can keep practicing right up to her third trimester!"

They ambled down around a patch of tree to where Teyla was indeed practicing with one of the servants, sticks flying and body spinning, the small swell in her belly barely showing beneath the flowing white tunic she habitually wore.

"How does she do that?" Rodney demanded.

"I haven't the faintest," Carson sighed. "Some nonsense about being a warrior in a past life."

Noticing their approach, Teyla stopped, holding up a hand to her sparing partner. "Rodney! It is good to see you outside!"

She pressed a sweaty forehead to his, but he did not complain. "And look!" She noticed the scar right away, palming it. "A transmitter! This means that you may journey across the planet with us!"

"I'd prefer the labs . . ." Rodney tried to decline.

"Nonsense, lad . . . you haven't lived until you've seen the sunrise over the southern mountain range. It's only a four day hike!"

"Hike! Ha!" Rodney snorted.

---

Things continued as usual for several months. Teyla's belly got rounder and Carson more fretful. Even the scientists seemed marginally more competent, refusing to be shown up by a mere pet.

But then one morning everything changed.

Rodney woke to find Princess gone. Without her, who would feed him? Who would pet him and clutch him close and praise him for his intelligence? Rodney scrambled over to Mate's still slumbering form.

"Rodney," he groaned. "Leave me alone."

Rodney didn't care. He wanted to see Princess. "Where is she?"

"What?"

"Princess!"

Mate seemed confused for a second before his eyes snapped open. "She is no longer a Princess, Rodney. Today she will become a Queen!"

"But where is she?"

"In the hatching chambers, of course!" Mate shook his head. "What do you think we've been doing this entire time, silly pet? Sleeping?" He laughed.

"And breakfast?"

Mate shook his head, reaching out to lay a hand on Rodney's back. "There. We have indulged you far too much, Pet."

"But I'm hypoglycemic! Without actual food at least every six hours my blood sugar gets too low! I could go into a coma, you imbecile!"

Mate just chuckled. "You're far too industrious to starve, Rodney. We love you still, but it is time you made your own entertainment. Big things are happening. Too big for your limited understanding."

"Hey! I'm a genius!"

"Yes, pet. But you are still, regrettably, a human," Mate sighed. "I must see to the hatchlings," he said, pulling on his long black coat and trailing off down the hall.

"Fine! Leave me! See if I care!" Rodney shouted resentfully after him. He pulled on his own pants and robes slowly, checking the tray where the servants usually placed his meals. Nothing.

That was okay, though. He could always figure out something basic with the chemical synthesizer. He was hating this day already.

Rodney stormed into the lab and barked at the first scientist he saw floundering with his star charts. "Those are upside down, you idiot! Now unlock the synthesizer room for me."

The scientist looked down at his calculations then flipped his hair infuriatingly. "I do not answer to a mere kept animal."

"Please. Without me, you would've blown up this entire ship ages ago."

"Your master is not here. We do not have to listen to you," another scientist spoke up.

"Fine. Then just get me something to eat. My master would have you for breakfast if he found that you let me starve."

One of the scientists reached out a hand. "Give me a little taste, pet, and I'll get you all the food you want."

The others laughed.

"Wait until Princess hears about this!" Rodney shouted.

"The Queen is busy with the hatching," the same one who had grabbed at him sneered.

Rodney felt himself shaking, adrenaline coursing through him like it hadn't since the first day that Princess had unwrapped his box. He didn't remember anything of his previous life, but he did remember the perfect response to danger – run.

The laughter of the scientists filled his head even long after he had bolted down the nearest corridor, stomach grumbling the entire way.

Rodney didn't stop running until he was outside under the planet's disgustingly bright sunlight. He didn't even care that he had no sunblock. He just needed to get out of here.

He panted with dizziness starting to overtake him. He needed to eat. But Carson and Teyla were out on their last long great wilderness adventure before the birthing and he had no idea where to find them. Besides, he wasn't sure his pride could take begging food off mere breeders.

Before Rodney knew it, he was standing in front of the Well. He looked up at it, looming high above him, shadow stretched long in the morning light. It looked so much bigger than it had in the schematics. Rodney gulped.

He didn't know any addresses. But even though he knew that the odds of dialing a correct address out of all the possible random connections, he felt he knew the exact seven symbols he wanted.

It was disappointing when they didn't engage.

And when his second instinct didn't either.

Rodney's stomach grumbled again. "Just think about where you can get a nice juicy cut of meat," he instructed himself, growing ever more desperate.

This time, the wormhole engaged with a flash. It seemed familiar somehow, a shimmering pool of glimmering light.

"I really hope this doesn't hurt," Rodney grumbled, squinting his eyes shut before stepping through.

---

Rodney had read that the first trip through the ring would often induce nausea in human subjects, but he didn't feel a thing . . . except maybe a little bit of dizziness. But then again maybe that was just the amount of noise he found on the other side.

Rodney had never seen so many human beings before in his life – teaming masses of them, wandering through muddy streets, flitting from stall to stall of so many strange things – some tools like in the labs, weapons like those the soldiers carried, but different, long and squared instead of sleek and pointed, and so many types of food, the air thick with it. And the people! They came in all shapes and sizes – children even. Rodney hadn't yet seen any children before, though he anticipated it, with the birthing. And everyone dressed in so many colors! It made the virgin white of Rodney's robe seem dull by comparison.

Rodney found himself moving forward, stomach rumbling as he made for the nearest storefront. Pies, his memory supplied. Rodney smiled, reaching out a hand.

"That will be three lyra, friend," the man behind the table said. He had a hooked nose and a darkness in his eyes that Rodney had not seen before, an emptiness like the faceless masks of the servants.

"Lyra?"

The man sighed. "Yes. You may trade with the market master, there," he pointed. "A bag of good grain will give you 100, and a kirsha costs but three."

"Oh . . . okay," Rodney nodded, startled by the press of bodies, the loud call of the market-master as he advertised his presence to the crowd.

Rodney snapped his fingers to garner the man's attention.

"Yes?" he scowled.

"I need three lyra," Rodney announced.

"And I need a nice long ride on a woman other than my wife, but it ain't gonna happen without a price," the man announced, smiling a saucy grin.

"What?"

The man looked Rodney over. "That belt'll fetch you ten lyra, I imagine," he gestured to the soft suede embossed with salrine crystals. Princess had given it to him.

"No," Rodney clasped it tight.

The man shrugged. "No wares, no shares, friend."

"But . . ." before Rodney could protest the man had already melted into the crowd.

He had not thought to bring anything with him. But how was he to know that the humans beyond the Well would be so stingy with their goods? At home, his family shared everything.

Then he spotted a stall, filled with metal parts, pieces crystalline but somehow different than what he usually saw in the labs. And yet, it all seemed somehow familiar.

"Jewel of the Ancestors!" the tender proclaimed. "Good as new! Freshly polished and ready to display in a shrine near you!"

Ancestors? Shrine? Rodney shook his head. Idiots. Worship was for chumps, weak servants. What did they say? Religion was the opiate of the masses. There was a perfectly rational explanation for all this. Rodney scowled and approached. That wasn't a jewel! It was a defunct personal shield device.

He marched over to the stall to give its owner a piece of his mind, but before he could more than open his mouth, the shopkeeper spit down at his feet. "The Krem do not trade with the likes of you."

"Hey! Well maybe I don't want to trade with the likes of you, if you're too stupid to recognize a personal shield device when you see one. Seriously, a man like you doesn't deserve to even touch a fine bit of machinery like that. I wouldn't trust you with a used Gameboy! I can't believe . . ."

"Personal shield?"

"Yes, yes, duh . . . you're even stupider than the scientists Mate has working on our intergalactic hyperdrive. I swear, with them working at it, we'll be stuck following the laws of relativity and won't that be fun? But compared with people like you . . ."

Rodney's rant was silenced by a sound he knew, but didn't – the loud crack of a gunshot. People screamed and rushed around him, pushing and shoving and doing all together impolite things that would never stand in the serene order of his home.

"Hey . . .watch it!" Rodney protested, until he noticed that the shooting seemed to be directed towards him. "I'm a dead man," he said, before ducking towards the nearest stall and peering up over the countertop. His attackers were wearing dull grey uniforms with large buttons on the front and unnaturally squared caps. Even if they hadn't been shooting at him, he thought he'd probably hate them.

Another shot glanced off the tabletop and Rodney ducked back. They were advancing and he didn't see anywhere to go. First time through the Well – of course he'd end up dead. He wasn't meant for things like sunlight and marketplaces and so many humans – he was strictly an indoor pet.

And then, another man dove down beneath a nearby stall. He, too, appeared to wield one of the strange oddly-squarish weapons. "Hey," he said. "You should know better than to come here dressed like that. Even without half a platoon of Genii soldiers in the market for Wraith data devices, it'd be a dangerous for you."

Rodney didn't know what a Wraith was, or who the Genii were (it sounded more like some sort of star sign than a bunch of homicidal maniacs), but his instincts told him that he could trust this man, the one that wore the same deep black as Mate.

Even if he did have the most ridiculous head of hair that Rodney had ever seen. Didn't his masters bother to bathe him?

The man flashed Rodney a quick grin, a slightly sarcastic almost deadly smile, before he shot up over the countertop and fired a few shots back at these ‘Genii.'

"Nothing like those stuck-up-lentil-loving fascists to spoil a good party," the man said, green eyes gleaming as he rose and got off another round. "I'm John, by the way."

"Rodney. You wouldn't happen to know why they're shooting at me, would you?"

John shrugged. "The Genii don't care for the Wraith much. Most people don't."

"Wraith?"

John rolled his eyes, ducking down quickly and almost missing the sting of the bullet that splintered the countertop where his head had been seconds earlier.

"Hey, do you think now might be a good time for a strategic retreat?" Rodney spluttered, floored by the casual way John seemed to take his head being nearly blown off.

John just laughed, grabbing Rodney by the wrist and yanking him a few stalls to the left and then back through a thick row of bushes. They tore at Rodney's robes and scratched red welts into his skin, but it was better than a bullet through the heart any day.

"This way," John exclaimed, dropping and rolling behind what appeared to be a fenced in pen of some sorts; Rodney couldn't see more than a few antlers to suggest the kind of animals it contained. "Now where did I park?"

"Park?"

"Oh, wait until you check this out. It's very cool," John said, pushing Rodney down beneath another stall, before he could grab a kind of alien shish-kabob in the booth above their heads.

"Cool? In case you haven't noticed, Mr. . . . John, being shot at is very very not cool!"

John just turned around and grinned, ducking into a nearby building. Rodney followed reluctantly. It looked like a bar, not that Rodney was exactly sure what a bar was – for some reason it seemed as though there should be boxes playing some sort of picture of people sliding around on ice while carrying large sticks, and maybe a nice man to tell all of your problems to. But right now, it looked like a bunch of barely-standing old chairs and a lot of frightened-looking people hiding under them.

"Excuse me. Just passing through," John said with a smile that the man probably thought was diplomatic, but seemed more flirtatious to Rodney.

"Now I think it was back behind here . . ." John remarked with a pensive frown, pulling a drab beaded curtain aside to reveal . . . a long room filled with boxes but ending in a wall. "Huh . . . maybe the one next door."

"Where are they?" Rodney heard a loud voice demand back behind them.

"Damn," John said, pulling a round egg-like object out of the pocket of leather pants that looked too tight to hold a piece of paper let alone a . . . grenade? "Here's hoping these walls are as flimsy as they look."

He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade at the far wall, pushing Rodney behind a pile of boxes.

"What the hell, John!" Rodney exclaimed. "I need my ears! You know? For hearing?!"

John chuckled, pushing to his feet. "C'mon, just out here!"

Outside the smoking hole in the wall was a field, fenced in by a scrap-metal barrier, filled with yellowing weeds and scraps of paper and other detritus that would never be allowed in Rodney's home. John was already trotting through it, and Rodney reluctantly followed, hoping that there weren't any rusty nails hidden in those weeds.

"Right where I left you," John said to a completely unremarkable section of air, before stepping forward and disappearing.

"John? What the hell . . ." Rodney began, before stumbling up what was apparently a metal ramp leading to what seemed to be the back of a small spacecraft, bigger than what the scouts flew, with benches in the back and a large cockpit. It would have been of great interest to the curious scientist in Rodney, except for the large man with long clumped unkempt-looking hair and the biggest pistol Rodney had ever seen. The man swung his huge gun around cowboy style so that it pointed at Rodney's chest.

"Don't move, Wraith-Worshipper," the man ordered, spitting.

Well, Rodney'd certainly have to get Princess to find him a new pair of sandals when he got home now. "Why does everyone keep doing that to me?"

He looked to John, who now had his weapon pointed at the stranger. "Put it down, Ronon. Cut him some slack. He's confused."

"Not confused enough to wear their cloth."

"He doesn't even know who the Wraith are, Ronon. I didn't either when I was presented to my first Queen. I have a good feeling about him. Trust me on this one."

Ronon just snarled, gun still pointed right at Rodney.

"I'm confused," Rodney admitted. He'd admit practically anything staring down the barrel of a pistol like that. "But I can guarantee you that the last thing I would do would be worship."

John took a step forward so that he was standing between Ronon and Rodney. "Look, if you don't believe me, then consider it a personal favor. You never would have been able to stop being a runner if I hadn't taken you to Radek."

Ronon grumbled but lowered his weapon. "Then we'll be even."

John nodded, moving towards the cockpit. "Good. Now get out of my ship."

The mountain man nodded, stalking away, though not without stopping to lunge at Rodney, causing him to jump. "If I ever see you again, I won't hesitate to kill you."

Rodney nodded weakly. He really didn't think he'd mind never seeing this man again in his life.

"Ronon's a bit high strung," John said, plopping down into what Rodney assumed was the pilot's chair. "Running from the Wraith will do that to you."

Rodney couldn't help but notice that when John grabbed the controls, they glowed, a display flashing up on the dash. "That's a pretty sophisticated start up routine."

"Huh? Oh, no, it's thought directed. I asked the jumper how many people are surrounding us."

Rodney should've been concerned about the armed crazies outside the ship, but he was more interested in this amazing machine. "You mean it responded to your thoughts?"

"Yep. Cool, huh? Wait until you see what she can do from space."

And before he knew it, they were rocketing forward, circling the angry group of soldiers beneath them, vaulting up through the clouds, taking dips and gravity-less spins. John was grinning like a madman beside him, while Rodney gripped the edge of the co-pilot's seat.

"While soaring through the atmosphere far away from the scary men with guns is all very well and good, do you think you could maybe slow this thing down a little, before I lose what little I have in my stomach?"

John just chuckled. "Like I said: cool."

---

"There are a lot of Gates in this system," John remarked, steering the ship through an abyss of twinkling stars and towards a shimmering blue planet just cresting over the horizon. "This one's uninhabited, but it's still got a Gate."

"Gate?"

"Your masters call them Wells, because they can draw food from them like water."

"Oh. I was hungry."

John turned to look at him a bit quizzically.

"Well, Princess usually feeds me herself, but they're busy – hatching, you know." Rodney pushed out his chest, defiant, as though he actually knew what that meant. "And I got hungry, so I went out . . . I'm hypoglycemic, you know. Well, of course you don't. None of these idiots . . ."

"I know what it means. I've got provisions stored in the back. When we set down I can cook something, but can't hurt to snack. Try the cakes."

Rodney nodded, shuffling through plastic bowls and containers – medical supplies and sample kits and tarps and all manner of things far more advanced than what he'd seen at the market. It wasn't until he came across a small shiny square with the words ‘Powerbar' written on the front before he smiled, ripping open the packaging and stuffing his face. "Chocolate," he practically moaned.

"Oh, good. I trade those sometimes, but I can't eat ‘em. Makes me itch."

"They don't feed me anything near this good at home. Most of the time I get protein blocks. When the servants go hunting through the Well, they bring me back things, though."

John chuckled. "See, that's what you get for living the quiet life, Mr. Park Avenue. A nice warm bed, a master you think loves you. But they have more important things. They understand that we hunger, but they don't understand flavor."

John looked at him over his shoulder, smirking. Something indefinable clenched in Rodney's belly. Maybe it was from not eating for such a long time. He gulped.

John grinned. "You know what hatching means?"

Rodney shook his head, coming back to the co-pilot's seat and sitting down.

"It means that they'll join the others in this war and they'll forget about you."

"Princess would never . . ." Rodney was her very favorite pet. She loved his eyes and his smarts and . . . she loved him.

"You shouldn't depend on them, Rodney. You can never count on anyone but yourself."

Something rang false to that. Rodney couldn't quite articulate why, but he wanted to talk about family, about brotherhood, even though as far as he could remember, he had never seen a human family grow old together. John made at least one thing abundantly clear – that Rodney was far too privileged to speak about the ways of the world.

Rodney held his tongue and cleared his throat. "Not that I'm complaining, but do you make a habit of getting into shootouts over random strangers?"

John sighed, bringing the little ship down in a low arc into the atmosphere. Rodney grasped the seat arms tight, despite the inertial dampeners. "I'm always looking for a little action."

Rodney snorted. "Of course you are."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Rodney wanted to say something about a double entendre, but he didn't really quite know the second meaning. Only that it had something to do with a ‘Kirk.' "It means . . . what the hell kind of crazy are you? They had weapons!"

John shrugged. "They're Genii. It's fun to get them all worked up like that."

"Fun? You call that fun? I call that running for my life!"

"Tom-ae-to, tom-ah-to."

Rodney got it, except for the one fact. "What the hell is a tomato?"

John shrugged. It was infuriating. "Coming in for a landing."

They landed on the dark side of the planet, near the southern pole. A display had flashed up on the dash, proclaiming the temperature there a steady 22 degrees, compared to the blistering 65 at the equator.

Of course John would pick a planet covered in ocean, with gorgeous white sand beaches and an aquamarine sea lapping up against the shore, two moons rising over the lip of a tranquil ocean. There was something familiar about all this – perhaps it was just the sound of so much water. Rodney knew that they had never visited a world like this before – Mate and Princess did not like the ocean.

Rodney gulped.

"Pretty isn't it?"

"If you like camping out in the dark getting ready to be smashed to smithereens by a tidal wave or eaten by giant crabs, maybe."

John chuckled as another display flickered up. "We're the only two people on this rock, Rodney. You can relax a little. C'mon."

John grabbed his hand and dragged him out the back, laying a silver tarp out beneath the stars and handing Rodney a shovel. "Dig a pit over there. I've got some wood in the back for a fire."

Rodney stared at the little metal shovel. He didn't dig. Manual labor was for the servants.

John rose to his feet, sighing. He'd rolled up his pant legs and his sleeves, but he got down on one knee in the sand anyhow, shifting the earth with a practiced ease. "Yeah, I know it's dirty. But so is freedom."

Rodney busied himself with the wood, carrying it out and then stacking it for the most efficient burn. "What brought you to the market anyhow?"

"Running low on ammo. Too bad the Genii are one of the few arms dealers around, and just because I kill them at every opportunity, they don't want to participate in a good honest trade."

Rodney snorted. "Where are their manners?" He stood, walking back over to the hatch of the ship, warm light spilling out of nothing. "Doesn't this thing have a non-invisible setting?"

"As a matter of fact, it does. But I can't let you see it – espionage, you understand." John punctuated his statement by collapsing back onto the tarp beside Rodney.

"Espionage?"

John sighed. "I can't have you going back and telling your Queen about it. This one's mine." He gestured to the unremarkable patch of air with a happy sigh. There was something about him – a familiar slouch to his shoulders, the low inviting slide of his laugh, the way his smile hid his few wrinkles in plain sight.

John was looking Rodney over now, something shimmering and unreadable in his eyes. "You know, something makes me think that I've met you before."

Rodney wanted to say that he felt the same way, but the moons were bright and the waves hypnotic and John just looked so beautiful, a luminescent silhouette against the night sky. "I bet you say that to all the boys," Rodney murmured, leaning in closer, though he couldn't say why.

"Only the pretty ones," John murmured, leaning in too.

Rodney stiffened, almost panicking when John's lips brushed up against his. As far as he could remember, he had never let anyone other than his masters touch him so intimately, rubbing a tingle down his spine like John was doing now.

"Hey," John whispered, massaging the nape of Rodney's neck. "Relax."

"I am relaxed," Rodney squeaked, feeling an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

John looked down and smiled. "C'mere." He pulled Rodney down between his legs, kissing him over and over again, and letting Rodney touch, pet, feel, own him in a way that only masters were allowed to.

Then John was arching up against him, rubbing against the strange hardness until Rodney's breaths transformed into pants, and he saw lights shimmering across the sand like the light of the moon across the sea.

"Oh god," he moaned with a shudder, even though he'd never heard of such a name.

"Yeah," John panted, grabbing frantically for the buttons of his soft black slacks and pushing at the folds of Rodney's robe, just trying to get at the complex tie of his pants. "Come on."

Whenever Princess undressed him, it was slow and steadily, possessed of her uniquely unhurried dignity. This was messy and desperate and human. "Mmmm . . . John." Rodney couldn't contain his voice, his hips. "I want . . ." he didn't know what he wanted, only that he wanted John against him, kissing and licking and doing that thing with his tongue.

"Yeah. God, Rodney, please," John squirmed beneath him, angling his hips and thrusting wildly, sensitive parts fitting together with such perfect friction.

Rodney closed his eyes against the fireworks exploding across mind and vision, leaning down into the almost sweat musk of John's neck, biting his mark into silky skin as he exploded, imploded, turned inside out.

Rodney panted back to reality and John's playful eyes, dazed and sated beneath him.

"Oh, wow. I can't believe . . . wow," Rodney babbled, collapsing down beside John.

John leaned up on his elbow, smirking in a way that should have been vastly irritating, but instead seemed almost cute. "Never done that before?"

Rodney shrugged. "Sometimes my mistress . . . she . . ."

John nodded. "It's much better this way, huh?"

"Yeah," Rodney sighed, lying back against the tarp. John scooted closer, resting his head on Rodney's shoulder. There was something very right about this. But then again, maybe it was just the moons. Freedom, too, was unfamiliar.

---

It was pleasant, waking up with John snoring into his shoulder, one arm flung over his chest and legs pleasantly tangled. The day passed smoothly, with stories and questions and arguments about trivial things – how to measure the length of a coastline, the existence of worlds untouched by the Wraith, whether or not time travel was possible.

They had ‘sex,' as John called it, inside the ship and out under the blazing sun (after calculating the UV radiation levels). They swam and ate and laughed. But by nightfall, Rodney was cold – shivering and shaking as though he might fly apart with the wind. A pervasive ache clenched through his body. Sweat and fever and gut-churning tension held him hostage until he could do nothing but whimper as John pulled him into the rear of the ship, covering him in a blanket and pressing his lips to Rodney's forehead.

"It's okay. We'll fix this," he said. And even though Rodney hadn't really seen proof that John could perform miracles, he believed him.

The tiny ship was quick to the Well, and before he knew it, they were setting down in a barren square, surrounded by modest cabins that Rodney seemed to want to describe as ‘quaint.' It certainly seemed far too backwards for home, but then again, he was a little busy focusing on putting one foot in front of another and not dragging John down when he collapsed from the pain.

A man strode quickly up to them. Dressed in a black suit that did little to conceal a gluttonous figure and a simpering smirk that made his face look both wide and lopsided, the man opened his arms, doing little to remedy first impressions with the nasal falsetto of his voice. "Colonel Sheppard! How nice to see you again! And I see you've brought . . ."

John drew his projectile-pistol, easing it into what Rodney assumed was killing mode with a harsh click. "I told you never to call me that, Lucius."

"Aw, you don't mean that."

John aimed his weapon. "No, I actually do. Cut the crap and take me to Radek."

"John, buddy. We used to be friends. The best of friends, really. I'd save some villagers, heal a few sick children, fight off the local ruffians and you'd be there to offer me a shoulder rub and a good . . ."

John didn't even look up, staring into Rodney's eyes and squeezing his shoulder. "It'll be okay." He kept the weapon on Lucius. "Take. Me. To. Radek. Now.

Lucius held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I'm showing, I'm showing. There's no need to be rude about it. I've been good to you, you know – like that one time when you came in looking for a . . ." Rodney tuned the rest of the babble out. Judging by the way John's jaw seemed to be grinding, it didn't seem like something of interest anyhow.

Rodney was on his last burst of energy when they reached the house. It was on the edge of the town square, neither nice nor shabby. In fact, it was completely unremarkable in every way, right down to the simple wooden door with the copper knocker.

John didn't bother with the knocker. He just pushed the door open, leaning Rodney down onto the mass of animal skins that seemed to make up the inhabitant's pallet.

On the other side of the one-room cottage, there was a large table, covered with so much Alteran technology that Rodney felt his eyes bulge. And sitting before it was a little man with fuzzy, tangled hair and pieces of glass posed in front of his eyes by flimsy metal frames.

"John?" the man asked. "Who's the guest?" His voice sounded strange – muffled somehow. Rodney had read something about this. It was something to do with the universal language facilitated by the Well.

"Rodney. I found him in a shootout with the Genii, down in the Minerian market."

The man, ‘Radek', shook his head. "How is it that where you go, trouble follows?"

John shrugged. "Shit happens. And what's happening right now is that my friend, Rodney, is going into withdrawal. I need you to modify his transmitter."

"'He can't go back to his Hive?" Radek asked, perplexed.

Rodney wanted to assert that it was a perfectly good idea. He could take some of John's foil food packets and not venture to the Well for several days. Perhaps the hatching was already done and Princess would return to care for him. But John was quick to give a pointed "No," a command in his eyes that Rodney had seen from no one but his masters.

"I'm taking him to see Amathyla."

Radek seemed to chuckle at that. Rodney wanted to ask why he found that so funny, when Radek muttered, "so, a romance."

Rodney stiffened at that, pain giving way to panic. "I won't betray Princess . . . I can't . . ."

John patted him on the shoulder. "You won't have to. She's not looking for informants, just breeding stock."

"But . . ."

"Don't worry, Rodney. It's only for a day. We get in, pay our respects, get a Gift and get out. I do it all the time."

Rodney nodded, biting his lip. Whatever John said, he couldn't take much more of this. His shirt was already soaked through with cold sweat and his eyes were watering with sudden exhaustion.

"Now, Radek . . ."

"Not so fast, John. Payment . . ."

"Look, Radek, Rodney is a brilliant scientist. He saw a device just like that one . . ." he pointed to the small emerald device placed prominently in the corner of the workbench. "And he said he could repair it. Lucius is offering a pretty penny for that one."

"And you know this because . . ."

"Because I trust him."

Radek seemed to frown. "Well, okay . . . but only for you. From now on, pay in advance."

John smiled the most charming smile Rodney had seen so far. "Not a problem. Hey, I even picked up a few scraps for you while on Mineria. Let me get them for you while you work on him."

Radek nodded, already pulling out some sort of device and running it over Rodney.

John was barely out the door when Rodney asked, "How do you know he's not lying?"

Now it was Radek's turn to smirk. "I am the only person who can switch frequency of Wraith Transmitter. Without me, he cannot move from hive to hive."

Rodney, for one, had no problem being a single hive guy. "Why would he want to do that?"

Radek shrugged, pulling out another device and entering a few things on it. "He just likes because he gets better fix, yes?"

"Fix?"

"Yes, the enzyme. When the Wraith feed, they inject an enzyme into the bloodstream, to assist the process, yes? Even with the Gift of Life it is injected. You build up resistance over time, but if you receive from different genetic lines you can maintain same state. John has many masters. They each believe they have changed his transmitter frequency so that they own him."

"Ingenious," Rodney said.

Radek snorted and went back to work.

---

"Kneel," Amathyla seemed to hiss, voice booming around her from every chamber, echoing even in Rodney's mind.

"I am kneeling," Rodney panted. "Despite the rheumatism and the . . ."

"Silence." She held up a hand, eyes focused on John. "Why have your brought this one here, Kirk?"

‘Kirk?' What the hell kind of name was that? If Rodney didn't have a Queen messing around in his head (something Princess had never seen it fit to do), he would have teased John about it.

John knelt, but it was clearly voluntary. He did not duck his head, even when she stroked his cheek. "I like him."

She laughed, a cold metallic chuckle that echoed even further than her voice. Rodney could feel her amusement, bright and red and painful. "Do you find him beautiful, pet?" she asked, stalking around Rodney, lifting his chin with a single painful claw. "He is not like the others."

Others? Since when were there others?

John shrugged. "He has other qualities, Mistress."

She grabbed a hold of Rodney's chin at that, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Yes. I do not pretend to understand your forms of beauty, but his eyes . . . . You have brought him as breeding stock?"

"He's intelligent, mistress. And he possesses the gene of the Alterans."

She smiled. "A good find, pet. But what should you want me to do with him? After we have collected the necessary material?"

She looked deep into John's eyes for just a second, then laughed. "Very well, pet. I shall leave him to you."

And with that, she raised her feeding hand and pressed it directly down into John's chest. While he was moaning, somewhere between horror and pleasure, eyes rolling back into his head, she turned to Rodney and smiled. Her other hand snaked out, finding Rodney's chest. He had just a moment to notice that she had a feeding lip there too. Rodney would've taken a second to marvel at this seeming mutation, but then he felt as sudden rush, like a dam bursting, filling him to the brim with pleasure. Somewhere in a haze of contentment he felt John, floating there too, thoughts and emotions and need flowing between them. In that brief moment, Rodney realized that he would never know anyone else like this. He'd never need anything beyond this.

When she finished, he found himself looking into sated hazel eyes. Even in the dark chamber of a Queen not his own, John was all he could see.

---

"So, can you fix it?" Radek asked, eagerly, wringing his hands.

Rodney held the small emerald jewel up to the light. He didn't know how he knew, but this was definitely supposed to be a personal shield device. Maybe it was out of batteries, but Rodney doubted it. It hummed slightly in his hand, flickering on and off instead of going a dull immovable shade of green. Maybe it was the fuse.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," he said, poking at it. "I think I saw a tool I could use back in John's . . ."

John elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey! You know how I bruise, you dandelion-haired Neanderthal! This is where we use our words and not our fists."

John rolled his eyes, turning to Radek. "I left the tools back at my house. If you'd just excuse us . . ."

Radek frowned, pushing his ‘glasses' further up his nose. "It is a valuable object. Even if it never works it could price at 200 lyras."

John smiled his most charming smile – the one Rodney was increasingly convinced could never mean good things. "We'll keep it safe for you, Radek. Don't you trust me?"

"As far as I can throw you," Radek mumbled, turning back to the pile of Alteran artifacts on his workbench.

The second they were outside, John was bouncing up and down on his heels, seeming to almost burst with energy. "So, can you fix it?"

Rodney snorted. "Of course I can fix it. I'm a genius, remember?"

John laughed – a completely different laugh from Princess' amused chuckle. "Actually, Rodney, I'm not sure you mentioned it." And with that, he gave Rodney a playful grin before grabbing the personal shield device and trotting off down the path to the WellShip. "Catch me if you can!"

Rodney crossed his arms across his chest. He was his master's favorite pet. He conducted himself with dignity.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!"

Oh to hell with it. Rodney ducked his head and ran after him. John was in much better shape (not suffering from a sedentary, follicularly-challenged lifestyle, according to John) but it didn't matter, because John was running backwards now, laughing that open almost vulnerable laugh of his. The first time Rodney had heard it, he'd thought it sounded strange – out of place even on John's boyish features. But now he understood – it was the sound of freedom.

"C'mon, Rodney, you can do better than that!" John shouted. And then proceeded to trip over an invisible ship and fall back into nothingness. "Oh, that's where I parked it," came the muffled groan.

Rodney laughed to himself, trotting up the gangway and adding one klutzy move to another when he tripped over John, landing face-first against . . . a shimmering field of green.

"Rodney?"

"John?"

"Cool!" John exclaimed, reaching up to poke at the protective dome around him. "I guess it works, after all."

"Thank you, Colonel Obvious," Rodney murmured. Not that he knew exactly what a colonel was, or why John didn't flinch away when he said it, as he had done with that Lupus character.

"Don't mention it. Hey, do you think this thing . . ." John's voice trailed off when the shield fizzled and went dark, causing Rodney to drop down another foot onto John's chest.

"Okay, not as cool, but I can work with this," John remarked, reaching up and carding his hands through Rodney's hair. It reminded him of Princess.

"Hmmmm . . ." Rodney muttered. "I think I was right about the fuse. There should be a way to remove the control crystals . . . if I can just get that toolbox of yours . . ."

John laughed, pushing up on his elbows to plant a kiss on Rodney's lips. "You are the only person in the universe who can think about fixing things when you're lying between your . . . someone who you're . . . you know . . . Rodney, I've got you between my legs!"

Rodney frowned. So that was that tingle running up his spine. "Good point," he said with a smile, leaning down and bringing his lips to meet John's. He sure could get used to this.

John smiled into the kiss, stopping only to breathe and ask, "Hey, when you get that thing fixed, do you want to shoot me?"

Rodney felt a familiar thrill rise in the pit of his stomach. This was how it was supposed to be – not the damp darkness of the lab, but a game of discovery. If the sparkle in John's eyes was any indication, he must have agreed.

"I think I always want to shoot you," Rodney whispered, grinding his hips down into John's, swallowing the other man's laugh.

"Maybe I should stay away from you, then," John panted, doing exactly the opposite and pulling Rodney in closer.

"Mmmmm, you probably should . . ." Rodney mumbled into John's chest, scrambling to get his hands under John's black tunic, completely oblivious to birds and the flowers and the bugs just outside the open door. He felt safe here. And it had nothing to do with the ship being invisible. Though that was pretty interesting . . . "If I shoot you, can I take a look at the WellShip?"

John laughed, pulling a blitz on Rodney's pants. "After you shoot me, you can do whatever you want . . . and for the last time, it's a Puddlejumper."

"And for the last time, it doesn't jump puddles," Rodney argued, nipping at John's lip a little.

John shrugged, flipping them over with near military precision. He pinned Rodney's arms up over his head. "Puddle. Jumper."

"It's a ship that goes through the Well."

John leaned down and bit one of Rodney's nipples. "Puddlejumper."

"You're being irrational. I've never heard of . . ." Rodney trailed off into a groan as John rocked his hips just slightly.

"Puddlejumper, puddlejumper, puddlejumper," he said, kissing along Rodney's collarbone for punctuation.

Rodney squirmed. "John! You bastard!"

"You're going to stay there until you agree," John commanded, tonguing Rodney's ear.

Rodney had never felt happier to be owned.

---

Life continued on, much the same. They either slept until late in the morning or rose at dawn. They traveled from world to world, market to market, buying and selling and discovering new tastes and sounds and people. Rodney learned early on that even though John was an excellent gambler (there was no card game he couldn't win), he was horrible at bargaining. While John was in some hole in the wall bar flirting with the local women and hustling the men at the game du jour, Rodney contracted his labor in the market – fixing old Alteran trinkets or just making them light up. Sometimes he could do it with no more than a thought, but he never told anyone that.

Sometimes John would get into a brawl (usually over some woman whose name Rodney would make him forget later that night) and sometimes Rodney would pocket a useful device or two. And then there were the days when they traveled off the beaten path, sailing through space to the nearest uninhabited world, parking John's invisible ship high in the mountains or by the seashore or in a vast expanse of painted desert.

They'd rent a room in a crumbling building with faded stucco and rusted water pipes or lay a tarp out beneath the stars, spending hours exploring each other's bodies, or just sleeping warm and safe and free.

But there was something missing. Rodney would wake in the cold of night, wrapped in John's arms but feeling her. Princess called to him in his dreams. Though working with Alteran technology in Radek's cottage or exploring the stars with John were spectacular beyond the mundane days with the idiotic scientists of the lab, he missed Princess' soft praise, the love he could feel radiating off her. Even if she neglected him and John protected him, even if the home had moved and she was a thousand light years away, he was still hers. No matter how many other Queens John might take him to, not a single one tasted as sweet. Even, John, as much as he loved him, could never be his true Master – not when Rodney could own him too.

But, then again, every time he hesitated, turned to John and said that it was time for him to go home, John would look at him with those unreadable hazel eyes and say just a single word: "Stay."

---

"I think we should go back to Amathyla," John said, pacing. It had been a hard day – another run-in with the Genii had left Rodney with a black eye and John with a bullet graze bisecting an already deep scar on his bicep. The injuries would heal on their own, of course, but the Gift of Life was so much simpler.

"No. We should go back to Princess. She'll take care of us." As much as he'd loved the experience with Amathyla, Rodney missed his own mistress. He didn't want to bear the transmission signal of another.

John reached up and grabbed a dark black crate, wincing as he did so.

"What are you doing?"

John gestured to his arm. "Bandaging this. It's what people who don't have masters do. Look, Rodney, this hurts like a motherfucker and your Queen is busy with a hatching. We have to go to Amathyla."

Rodney wanted to protest and tell John that he could tough it out just so that Princess could meet his new lover, but John would have none of it. He was already walking out the door and towards the Well.

"I'm going, Rodney. You can come or you can stay here." And with that, John dialed and stepped into the shimmering pool of water.

"John!" Rodney shouted. As much as he cared for the man, he sure did have a stubborn streak. Rodney went back inside to grab the remote control for the ship, burying it beneath a bush before walking towards the wormhole and . . .

There was a crack like lightning, a ship descending down through the heavens, vast and filled with tall glass spires, shields flashing against the moisture of the air. Rodney had heard stories – rumors of a city in the sea, the last bastion of resistance, long defeated.

Rodney really wished that John were still here.

"What the . . ." he began. But before he could finish, there was a sudden flash and everything faded to black.

---

There were voices. That was the first thing that Rodney became aware of.

"Well it looks like we've gotten ourselves into another fine mess, Ma'am." The voice was strangely familiar – angular and proper in a way that Rodney had only heard with the Genii. He stiffened, but still couldn't bring his eyes to open.

"Tell me about it, Nick." Another voice – this one female, deep and throaty. If Rodney swung that way (and he still had no idea if he really did), then he might find that voice sexy.

"We could sure use Colonel Sheppard right about now," the first voice mumbled. Rodney forced himself to attention, even if his brain wanted to stay in this quiet floaty place. Colonel Sheppard? Isn't that what that Lucas man had called John?

The woman laughed at that, a sick laugh that reminded Rodney of desperation. "We sure could."

"He'd think up some harebrained scheme, take out the guards, build a weapon out of a paper clip and some duct tape and we'd be on our way. Save the day and get the girl."

"Oh, so now I'm ‘the girl?'" the woman questioned, jokingly.

"Oh . . . no . . . I didn't mean that, Ma'am. I . . . uh . . . it's just that Colonel Sheppard does have a bit of a thing for damsels in distress – you know, Mara, Teer, that Chaya woman that McKay was always going on and on about. And I don't know if you consider yourself a damsel, but this looks a fair bit like distress to me."

"We'll think of something. And Nick? It's Elizabeth, okay?" She sounded defeated. "I'm not your boss anymore."

"Yes, Ma'am," the man said. "Well, at least we've got McKay. That's something, right?"

"Yes. It is."

"Hey, does it look like he's waking up to you?"

Someone was shaking at his shoulder, patting his cheek.

Rodney groaned. He was sore all over – his head, especially. And he didn't want anything to do with these people who talked about John and all of his ‘damsels in distress.' Sure, Rodney had been in distress at the time, but he wasn't a damsel and with him and John . . . it was more than that. Wasn't it?

"Dr. McKay?" The man prodded.

"Rodney?"

He groaned, unable to take it anymore and finally prying his eyes open to look. The woman was leaning down over him, light forming a halo around chocolate brown hair. Her eyes were green, but different than John's – more weary. "Rodney, thank god," she breathed, leaning forward and embracing him. If his muscles didn't feel like spaghetti, he would have pulled away, but the woman was gripping him tight.

It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that they seemed to be in some kind of cage – slatted bars enclosing them in the middle of a larger room. There was someone else here – someone he recognized. It was the tall man with the dreadlocks and the mean streak. He was seated quietly in the corner, watching them all warily.

"Nice to have you back, doc," the other man said. He was short, but well-built, wearing a synthetic gray shirt and pants that matched the woman's. Military, then – but not Genii.

"Back?" Rodney squinted. "Who are you people?"

The two that had been speaking exchanged a worried glance between themselves.

It was the woman who spoke first, reaching out to clasps a hand to Rodney's shoulder. He flinched away, but she didn't seem deterred. "I'm Elizabeth Weir, Rodney. I'm . . . well, I used to be your boss. And your friend."

"I don't recognize you."

"I know you don't. Rodney, look, this is very important. I just need you to hear me out."

Rodney nodded. He was literally a captive audience anyway.

"We came here on an expedition from another galaxy."

Rodney frowned. Another galaxy? He'd seen schematics for something like that. "You mean you're from Earth?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, Rodney, from Earth. I was the civilian leader of the expedition and you were the CSO – Chief Science Officer." Well, at least she got the science part right. "But you and your team were excavating some ruins when you were captured by the Wraith . . . we mounted a rescue mission, but it was too late . . . Rodney, we've been looking for you."

What the hell was he doing with ruins and why would he be captured by the Wraith? Princess hadn't captured him. She'd gotten him as a present. He'd always . . . as far as he could remember, anyway . . . if he'd been from Earth and known where it was, he would have been able to tell Princess. After all this time, he was still disappointed that he could not.

Elizabeth seemed to be studying him. She cupped his cheek. "Oh, Rodney, where have you been?"

Rodney didn't know whether or not he should lie. But then again, what could he say? "I've been on the road . . . traveling. Not that it's any of your business." He pushed himself to his feet. The soreness in his muscles was fading to a slight tingle.

Elizabeth looked ready to respond, but then the cell doors opened and two men walked in, both wearing almost faceless expression and off-white linens. They didn't make a sound as they reached into the corner and pulled the man with the crazy hair out, struggling.

"Ronon!" Elizabeth shouted, reaching for him, but there was nothing she could do.

While the guards had him, the man turned around, shouting over his shoulder. "Don't believe her, Wraith Worshipper! She tried to tell me the same thing."

"Don't listen to him, Rodney," Elizabeth said, turning back to him before Ronon was even out of the room. "Look . . ."

"It doesn't matter," Nick stepped in. "All you need to know is that we're being held here by the Asurans." Rodney had heard about them. They were the great enemy that everyone was gathering up to fight. "They've been tracking Wraith transmitter beacons. They'll take you back where they took Ronon and they'll infect you with nanites – wipe your personality and send you back out there as a spy. You can't want that."

No. It didn't sound at all fun. But, they had to know that he'd never betray Princess. He'd die first. "Princess will come for me."

"Princess? I think he's still feeling the effects of the stunner, Ma'am."

"Princess is my master. And I'm her favorite pet. She won't leave me."

Elizabeth gasped. "Rodney, you don't mean . . . when he said Wraith Worshipper . . ."

"She loves me. That's all you need to know." Rodney crossed his hands over his chest.

"Rodney . . . they feed off of humans. The Wraith are merciless. Thousands of people die so that they can live. You can't possibly stand by and let them . . ."

Rodney couldn't say that he didn't care – it wasn't true, exactly. He didn't want people to die. But he didn't think that Princess deserved to either. That was the thing about love, it didn't lend itself to calculations of magnitude. "What do you expect me to do?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, the ship shuddered and shook.

Rodney smirked. "You can't expect me to kill the people who're coming to rescue me."

---

Princess looked different now, her simple white dress replaced with a complex suit of leather and silver buckles – hard where it had previously been soft. But she smiled when two new servants brought Rodney in. They didn't speak, but they were a little rough with the handling.

"Where'd you get the new brutes?" Rodney huffed, annoyed.

Princess slunk over towards him, caressing his face with a single finger. "Oh, pet. I should have known the significance of a hatching would be lost on you." She stroked a finger through his hair, pleasure suffusing him. "My Rodney is such a technical one."

"So I'm yours now?" Rodney asked resentfully. He'd felt the touch of other Queens. He tried not to let his disgust show, thinking about how they had all made him kneel.

Princess laughed. It was light and airy, not echoing in his mind like the laughs of the others. "Oh, Pet, I had missed how much you amuse me." She moved her hand across his chest, giving him small little tastes but never stopping long enough to truly Gift him. Princess was playful to the last, even if she was now a Queen. "You will always be mine."

Rodney sighed, leaning into her caress. "I missed you too."

Princess reached down, clasping his hand and pulling him along with her to the door. "Our separation was painful, but necessary. I needed to attend to the hatching and you needed to see the world."

Rodney nodded. He had needed to see. "I met a woman . . ."

Princess cocked her head, curious. "You would like to take a mate?"

Rodney thought about John, but then quickly squashed the hope. John would not want to settle down. That was what all of the ‘damsels in distress' were about, weren't they?

"No. She said . . . she said that I used to fight against the Wraith. She said that thousands of humans have to die so that you can live."

Princess did not sigh – her kind did not seem capable of those kinds of breaches of dignity. But Rodney could feel sadness humming off her in waves. "She is not entirely wrong."

"I used to be your enemy?"

"I do not know, Pet. I only know after you came to me. But there is truth to her statement – we live at the cost of your lives. It is not that we wish pain upon you humans. Perhaps our warriors do against their enemies. But I do not. All living things must eat, Pet. It is simply how it must be."

"And you can't . . . I don't know, eat a hamburger or something?"

"Again, it is not so simple. Now that I am Queen, things will be different. I intend to manage my territory well. We will not take young in the prime of life. We will leave the herds alone to live out full lives. We will not terrorize them – that sleeping device you helped to construct will help with that. We will not impede their technology, nor their comforts, but rather bring the most intelligent among them to serve here with us as you do. And then one day, through science and ingenuity we will find a way to live in perfect symbiosis."

Rodney smiled. He knew that Princess was different than the others.

"Here, we have seen the fruits of our first experiment." She walked up to a door, not flinching when it sprung open, as Rodney often did.

Inside Teyla was sitting, nursing a young baby at her breast. Rodney had almost forgotten about her pregnancy all together.

"Rodney?" Teyla asked, eyes shining with pride and happiness. "You have returned."

"Um . . . yes, I have." Rodney was too distracted by the little creature suckling at . . . Teyla really did have nicely shaped breasts.

"And this little one," Princess said, reaching over to grab the small baby with dark skin and Carson's clear blue eyes, "is very important to us." She walked over to a counter in the corner of the room, picking up a simple device – it looked like a needle, filled with a clear liquid. "From this one, we may draw a hybrid of genetics compatible to us and the gene that allows your kind to operate Alteran technology. One of your breeder friends was very helpful in this."

She lowered the needle down to the baby's chest, ignoring its cries. Teyla was sitting up now, still hanging out of her tunic, alarmed and mesmerized but too scared to speak.

"I would not hurt it, breeder. Not such a valuable stock," Princess spoke, seeming to loom over the fragile bundle in her arms, even as she drew the needle away, rocking away its feeble cries. "Hush, little one, you will grow up loved."

She stood there, seemingly suspended in the moment, before looking back up at Rodney, eyes smiling. "Now, my pet, we have much work to do," she reminded him, returning the baby to Teyla and motioning for Rodney to follow her.

---

The days passed quietly in the lab, though so many things had changed. There was an urgency that Rodney had not felt before. He suspected that it had something to do with the Asuran war, but when he asked, Princess would simply urge him to work. She and Mate no longer slept on their wide pallet, leaving Rodney alone in the too-big space. His world was driven by routine, awoken by Mate in the morning to visit the lab and scientists working there. They had a great project afoot. And everyone left him alone, generally. With so many new soldiers to train and food to store, it was a lonely time for Rodney.

That was why he was surprised when he felt another warm body slide into bed with him – strange because the Wraith were always so cold.

"Mmmmphf?" he asked, turning over to meet calm hazel eyes. "John?" Rodney was awake in seconds, pulling the sheets up with him. "What are you doing here? Do you have any idea . . . what if one of the servants had seen you?"

John shrugged. "I was worried about you, Rodney. I went through the Gate and you didn't follow. I heard that the New Ancestors were taking people with tracking devices and I was scared . . ."

"Why?" Rodney huffed. "When you can find yourself another ‘damsel in distress' around the corner?"

"What?! Rodney, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your supposed propensity for womanizing . . . about what Amathyla said about your other conquests. It's all freedom and seduction and independence on one hand, but on the other it's the ability to just leave anyone the second they come too close!"

John sat up in bed, back to Rodney. Even in the calming blue glow of the lighting of the home, he seemed angry. "I came back to you, didn't I?"

"Only because you thought I was in trouble!" Hence the whole damsel in distress deal.

"And risking my neck trying to get to you doesn't count for something?"

"It counts against your questionable sanity, yes. But I don't see . . . what's so wrong about settling down? Caring enough that you can just pick a side and be loyal to it? Princess and Mate will love you if you let them."

"It's not their love I care about," John mumbled, standing and pacing.

"Then do it for me . . . if you wouldn't do it for Elizabeth or Chaya or any of your other floozies."

John spun, a ferocious, accusatory look in his eyes. "You mean Weir?"

Rodney nodded. "She was a fellow captive on the Asuran ship."

"Rodney, she's playing you. Just like everyone is trying to play you. That's what ownership means, Rodney. It means that they can lie to you, manipulate you against your will. Weir had the nerve to try to tell me that I used to be part of her family. She said that I wasn't even from this galaxy, Rodney. She said she came from some place where they'd never even seen the Wraith! But if you had a life free of the Wraith, why would you ever come here?"

"Maybe because they don't know how to live without being owned."

"Rodney . . ." John began, but he was interrupted by the flashing lights and the loud hum of an alert – there was an intruder in their midst. "Shit. I triggered an alarm."

Rodney was already up and looking at the wall console that Princess had installed for him, data flowing by so fast he could barely keep up. "Did you breech the hatching chamber containment protocol?"

John shook his head.

"Then it wasn't you. How'd you get here? "

"I bought the data off of a Genii spy."

"Are you the only person he sold it to?"

John gulped. "I don't know."

The console flared a bright red. "Damnit!" Rodney shouted, pounding at it. "Whoever it was damaged the main engine outputs too. I've got to go work them out . . . the hatchlings . . ."

"I've got it," John said, already running out the door. Before Rodney thought to stop him, he was already gone.

---

By the time Rodney got there, he was already too late. Princess and Mate were up on the bridge, coordinating soldiers and science teams trying to contain the mess. Rodney had gotten the worst of it under control, only to realize that if any of the security teams caught up with John, they'd kill him on the spot.

But John was nowhere in sight, and there was nothing but blood-stains . . . a body of a young man with dark skin and a single blackened eye, a gunshot wound forming a gaping hole in his chest.

"Where is he? The other man that was here?" Rodney demanded. But the two guards patrolling the scene were servants – skeletal masks over where their mouths should be.

"Oh, god, oh, god, what have I done?" Rodney whispered, an overpowering chant as he typed frantically at the nearest console. There was no way to tell where John was being taken, however. He was still alive – his body wasn't here. But there was nobody in the holding cells. They must have been storing him with all the rest of the food, but they were taking in massive numbers of provisions. He could be in any thousands of storage units.

Rodney pounded a fist into the console in frustration. Where could he be? He searched lines and lines of code – they'd loaded 1,274 in the last hour and the newly hatched servants had no idea how to file a proper inventory.

Rodney had no idea for how long he'd stared at the screen, only that he jumped when he felt a tiny warm hand on his shoulder. "Teyla?"

"What is it, Rodney? You seem panicked." Her baby was tied to her back with a long strip of white cloth, but she still moved gracefully, bringing his forehead to touch their foreheads together in a manner he found more disturbing than comforting.

"I . . . I lost him."

"Lost who?"

"John. I lost John. He's in here somewhere. He . . . he took out the intruder and saved the hatchlings, but these stupid foot soldiers couldn't find logic with both hands and a flashlight, so of course they didn't think to even question the intruder's killer."

"And who is John?"

Rodney sighed. How to explain John? The man with the unruly hair and the devil-may-care attitude? The guy with the invisible ship? The only person Rodney had ever . . . "I care about him, Teyla. And there's no way to find him."

Teyla sighed. "Perhaps, all we must do is to look. Can you find a map of the storage units that have been granted power since you have last seen him?"

"Already tried. There're too many of them."

Teyla took in a deep breath. She looked beautiful, focused like this – so much more than the mere breeder she was classed to be. "Perhaps there is another way."

She closed her eyes, melting back into that graceful calm he'd always seen in her fighting practices.

"What are you . . ." he began. She didn't even use her voice to silence him.

It felt like several long moments (occupied with pacing and hand wringing and general unsettledness) before Teyla opened her eyes. "Fifth floor, east wing. We must hurry."

"What? Teyla . . . how did you . . ." His questions soon dissolved into panting as he rushed after her. Even with a baby strapped to her back, Teyla was lithe and surefooted. He was struggling to keep up by the time they rounded the corner on the last corridor. His lungs were burning and his legs felt like the gelatinous goop they served as dessert on Haldora. His stomach was tense and nauseous, though he didn't know if it was from running or worry. What if they were too late?

They nearly were, as they rounded to corner to find a lowling – one of the warrior caste leaning into a chamber, hand around the neck of the chamber's occupant.

"Stop!" Rodney commanded, doubling over with exertion.

The soldier turned and sneered. "I do not take orders from humans."

"Well, I've heard that before," Rodney fought to keep his tone hard instead of desperate. Over the past few weeks he'd learned how vicious the new warrior caste could be. "Maybe you don't have to take orders from me, but if you don't release him right now, then your Queen will not be happy about it."

"What does the Queen care if I take a small pre-journey feeding?" The Wraith grinned, looking at Rodney through yellow catlike eyes. They seemed to glow with malice. Rodney had never felt so afraid in his own home.

"She cares what I think and I . . ."

The Warrior laughed, shaking down to the tips of his long white hair. He released John, who sagged forward, gasping, hands still bound in the complex web keeping him in the storage unit.

Rodney clamped his jaw shut, trying not to think about Elizabeth and how she'd accused him. "You can feed off any thousands, just not this one."

"But this one infiltrated our home. This one is ripe with defiance," the monster before him hissed. "I can almost taste him now."

Rodney shuddered, remember Elizabeth's words despite himself. He loved John, but that didn't matter to the Wraith, just as all the lovers and children and students of the other food didn't matter. It was wrong. So wrong.

"You can't . . ." Rodney croaked, feeling it as almost physical pain as the Wraith's hand drew closer to John's chest.

And yet, before it could make it there, Teyla was upon it, ducking its punches and hitting it back in return, the baby still strapped to her back. It didn't look as though it minded punching her, but it was careful to avoid the child. Perhaps Princess had stressed its importance.

It looked as though Teyla was holding her own, despite a few jarring slaps across the face. But then the warrior reached out and grabbed her forearm with both hands. Even across the room, Rodney could hear the bones snap.

Teyla panted in a harsh sob, staggering back.

"You cannot fight me, Breeder," the Wraith laughed, ducking a kick easily.

"Perhaps not," Teyla acquiesced, pulling up the stunner she'd snatched from the warrior's belt and firing.

"We are going to be in such big trouble," Rodney muttered, rushing forward. "Are you okay?"

Teyla nodded, wincing and bracing her broken arm against her chest. "How is the child?"

Rodney sparred a quick glance to where the baby was now crying in its papoose, despite looking red-faced and well . . . annoying, it seemed okay – no bruising or bleeding or apparent broken bones. "It's fine. He didn't hit it."

Teyla nodded her permission for Rodney to push past her and up to the storage unit. Not bothering to wait for the webbing to disintegrate on its usual time, he began ripping at it, fingers going numb as he exposed John's body.

"Rodney?" the man asked, unable to keep his head from lulling forward as Rodney levered him down onto the floor. His skin felt clammy and he was bleeding sluggishly from a wound at his shoulder. It looked as though the intruder had gotten in a hit. "He almost . . ." John whispered.

"I know," Rodney said, bending down to press a firm kiss against John's chapped and bruised lips.

"They'll kill us," John mumbled. "You have to run. My ship is outside, behind the nearest rock formation. The two of you can make it . . ."

Rodney shook his head. "I'm not leaving you. We'll just explain what happened. Princess won't punish you after you saved her hatchlings. If I ask her . . ."

John closed his eyes, blinking back a sadness that Rodney couldn't define. He shook his head, though it came off more as a weak sort of flailing motion. "No . . . you can't trust them. The Wraith . . . we're a threat to them and they won't hesitate . . ."

"Are you a threat, Rodney?" a voice echoed from down the corner. Rodney's head snapped up and John let his lull to the side.

Princess was standing there, watching them, unblinking. She looked fierce in black.

"No . . ." Rodney tried to keep the tremble from his voice. "Of course not."

"Then why does one of my soldiers lie unconscious?" Princess asked, stalking forward in a manner that Rodney had never before noticed resembled a predator – a big cat slipping through the jungle with nothing more than a shiver down the prey's spine.

"Maybe he slipped and fell," John drawled from the floor.

Rodney batted at him to be quiet. She loved him. She wouldn't hurt him. "I shot him, Mistress."

Princess cocked her head to the side, approaching Rodney and laying a hand over his fast beating heart. "Do not lie to me again, Pet. I can see that the breeder stands there injured."

Rodney gulped. "Fine. Teyla shot him, but only because I wanted her to."

Princess turned to Teyla, who was no longer bent over her injured arm, but standing tall, defiant. "So now the breeder takes orders from you, not me?"

"No," Rodney squeaked. "I just . . ." Princess' hand was still firm on his chest. It had never felt uncomfortable there before. "If only they were better trained. If they just stopped for a second and thought! John was trying to help. He killed the intruder. He saved the hatchery, but they found a stranger and . . . I couldn't let them do it."

"I will deal with you later," Princes said to Teyla, turning back to Rodney. Her eyes were luminescent and wide, seeming to bore into him. Perhaps it was this connection that Teyla came upon – perhaps it was this that let Princess and Mate speak without words. "If not to destroy the hatchery, then why was he here?"

Rodney gulped, hearing the rustle of John pushing himself up off the ground, but not daring to break Princess' gaze, even to see if his lover was all right. "I . . . um . . . I wanted to take him as my mate." He hoped John didn't mind the admission.

Princess nodded, kneeling down for a second, holding John's chin in one hand, stroking her fingers over pale skin and smiling. "I can see why you like him, Pet. This one is pleasing to the eye." She forced John's head to the side. "But defiant."

Her hand was hovering over John's chest and Rodney's heart was a constant drum at the back of his mind. The Wraith are merciless, Elizabeth had said.

Then Princess' hand slammed down onto John's chest and Rodney just barely restrained himself from rushing forward.

Princess looked up, a smile exposing razor-sharp teeth. "You may have him," she said. "He will make a fine breeder."

A sharp look in her eyes told him that she had seen him questioning, and that it was okay. Elizabeth was wrong when she said that the Wraith were not merciful. "They probably told you that my kind do not know what it means to love," she said.

If they had said so, Rodney never would have believed them.

Princess knelt (like she had never made Rodney do) and pressed her lips to John's forehead, before she stood and walked off, leaving John laying dazed on the floor, bloodstained white shirt the only evidence of his previous injuries.

"Welcome to our home, John," Teyla said, though there was something missing in the name.

---

It was silent in the dead of space. It usually was. Princess was standing at the center of her hive, a Queen in a robe of leather. She stood proud, walking up and down her ranks, examining each and every one of her warriors with an appraising eye. Rodney spared a glance sideways to see Carson and Teyla and the other breeders standing proud beside him. Today was a great day.

"We have a great conquest before us," Princess spoke, voice booming like a whisper in an empty room throughout the bridge of her glorious ship. "And I expect you all to stand strong in this fight. Needless violence is not acceptable. Feeding frenzies, too, are not dignified. We have made it here to our very own feeding ground out of cunning and intelligence," she nodded to Rodney, stopping before him to run her fingers through his hair. "We come to a world in chaos, where food kills food and no one draws strength from the feeding. Here the prey go starving out of their own inability to govern. Here, natural predators have been artificially removed and an overabundance of prey is choking the spirit of the planet. Here is a world where our kind have never hunted. We have been born into a new age, where symbiosis is the beginning of our understanding and the times of predation without wisdom are behind us. I ask of you . . ."

A loud shriek interrupted her speech. Rodney winced at the irritation he saw throbbing at Princess' temple. He looked over at where John was standing beside him, trying to contain a struggling child in his arms, but the mass of messy black hair and startling blue eyes simply would not be contained, laughing as Mate stepped up to him and growled.

"Rodney, John, I love you pets dearly, and your innovations have brought us to this wonderful place, but you must learn to contain your young."

"Yes, Mistress," John said with a happy, unrepentant smile.

Princess did not sigh, exactly, but she did look up into the empty serenity of space, eyeing the tranquil blue orb that floated large against the view screen as she took several calming breaths.

"As I was saying, with our new feeding ground comes a great responsibility. Above all, on Earth, we must act with compassion."

Rodney looked up at the planet laid out before them like a feast. He met John's eyes, noticing that they were quickly darkening. In this planet, he felt something familiar.

FIN